


Hang a Sign on the Door (Please Do Not Disturb)

by lizook12



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizook12/pseuds/lizook12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Really, he just wants to get the quarterly report for tomorrow copied so he can toss it in the conference room and take Felicity home for dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang a Sign on the Door (Please Do Not Disturb)

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm not entirely sure where this came from. I'm blaming **NikkiCienna** because it came up while chatting with her and she just encouraged it even more.
> 
> Title found in Sugarland's _All I Want to Do_

Groaning, he leans over the copier, prays that suddenly papers will start shooting out at him, but it’s useless.

Nothing happens except for the annoying red light blinking at him from the control panel.

 _blink_.

 _blink_.

 _blink_.

He wants to throw it out the window.

Still, he should be able to figure this out. He’s a pretty savvy businessman now (he knows he couldn’t have said that even two years ago and that it’s in no small part thanks to his wife) not to mention a fucking masked hero in his downtime; a copy machine shouldn’t be able to outsmart him.

And yet, beyond checking to make sure there’s paper in the tray—which there is, thank you very much—he has no clue what to inspect.

Crouching, he takes a look at the bottom drawers once more before jamming the copy button again in vain hope.

Not a damn thing changes.

Not even the slight sound of the machine scanning the paper.

Exhaling sharply, he leans against the shelves full of supplies, tosses his jacket over the doorknob.

Really, he just wants to get the quarterly report for tomorrow duplicated so he can toss it in the conference room and take Felicity home for dinner, maybe share a shower, before heading to Verdant.

A box of manila folders digs into his side and he turns towards the shelves, wondering where the manual for the machine is stashed. He knows it’s here somewhere, but as Felicity is no longer in charge of organizing the mundane shit like this (hell, she has her own projects on top of being shoulders deep in IT), he can’t even begin to guess the logic behind the cataloging of supplies.

Carefully, he shifts piles aside, looks behind cartons of staples and white-out and more highlighters than the entire company could ever need, and comes up empty.

Completely frustrated, he kicks the machine, begins cursing the lack of cooperation.

“...so much to ask to spit out a few pieces of paper? Piece of shit...” He begins pressing every button, hoping to jar something—anything—loose.

“Hey, no abusing the technology!”

Her hand lands on the small of his back and he relaxes against it, lets her take away some of the tension even as he continues to mutter under his breath. “I just need fifteen copies so I don’t—”

“Have to do it tomorrow while squeezing in a workout, breakfast with your family, our announcement, and a pre-board meeting meeting.” Laughing, she presses a kiss to his back and leans around him, pushing a random button amidst the control panel.

The machine immediately roars to life, papers stacking up in the out tray.

“Wha?? How....” He steps around her, blinking hard as if to make sure he’s not imagining it.

“I’m just _that_ good.”

“I know that, but—”

“And you’re apparently helpless. Maybe I should give you some tutoring on basic—”

"As long as it’s hands-on instruction.” He grins, stepping forward until she’s trapped between him and the machine.

“Oh? You’re not a visual learner?”  

“Visuals help, but...” He kicks the door shut, hands already toying with the tiny button at the back of her blouse. “I prefer practical application... feeling...”

“Mmm...” Sighing, she brushes her lips over his as his arms tighten around her, caging her in. “I think that could be arranged.”

His only response is to kiss her roughly, all teeth and tongue and _moremoremore_.

Her nails press crescents into the nape of his neck as he pulls away and she gasps, a little breathy sound caught in her throat, as he lifts her higher, covers her body more fully.

Wrapping her legs around his waist, she grins at the heat flaring across his neck, the desire and happiness and love dancing in his eyes.

His mouth tips up as if he can tell just what she’s thinking—and, fuck, he probably can—and then he’s rocking against her, trailing kisses down the column of her throat as his hands slip under her skirt, thumb caresses the inside of her thigh.

Moaning, she lets her head fall back, her eyes drift closed. His tongue strokes over her collarbone echoing the rhythm he’s setting below and she jerks against him, her hand flying out and—

 _blriiiinnnnnnnng_.

His head jolts up, eyes narrowing at the copier blaring a dial tone throughout the small room.

"What the....”

“I must have...” She’s laughing, cheeks flushed, hand cupping his shoulder. “Hit the fax _and_ speaker buttons.”

“Fax?”

“Yeah, it’s a multifunction copier and—”

“People still uses faxes?”

“Well...” She grins as he reaches and manages to hit the correct button, muting the noise, his laughter mixing with hers even as his hands begin to move over her body once again. “Not very often, but sometimes when you need a contract...”

The sentence dies just as he’s pressing closer and the door to the room bangs open, his executive assistant standing in the opening, jaw dropped.

“I... umm... I didn’t...” She stares resolutely at the ceiling, brown curls seeming to frizz in the tension of the moment.

“It’s fine, Heather.” Felicity lightly pushes his shoulder, lowers her legs to the floor, and tips her head towards him. “ _Block_ the door next time.”

“Sure...” He snags the stack of papers from the tray, lets his arm fall over her shoulders, pulling her close as they make their way out of the room. “When can we schedule that first class...”


End file.
